


old souls

by sibley (ferns)



Category: Batman (Comics), Justice League of America (Comics), Superman - All Media Types, The Flash (Comics), Wonder Woman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Gen, Magic, Magical Realism, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 21:17:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14387286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferns/pseuds/sibley
Summary: They say every city has its gods.





	old souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buckybunnyteeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybunnyteeth/gifts).



> For Sarah.

They say they’re gods. That every city has them, if you’re lucky enough to see them.

There are lots of them in Detroit, so they say.

A dirty river god whose throat is choked with filth and pollution, who they say will never let a child drown. And if you pray for him while you are out at sea, no matter how far from his home you may be, he will always help your nets be full of fish without another creature in sight. Unless you are going off to a war you want to end quickly. He will not help you then. You are better off praying to his wife.

A ghost for travellers to pray to when they need someone to help them blend in and get out fast and protect their family. That she helps the runaways. The ones that society pretends don’t exist. Addicts and sex workers and all the rest. They say her eyes are red, they say she wears a long skirt, and they say that if you look at her for too long, you’ll get a headache and your eyes will go funny.

They say the ghost prefers women to protect, just like the bleeding shadows that creep in the alleyways do, the husband and wife that watch young women heading home alone at night and settle on their shoulders like thick rubber snakes made of darkness to scare the monsters away, because _someone_ has to. They say they’re the ones to pray to when you’re in over your head and want out. If you want to thank them, leave out glass bottles of soda. They seem to like it, and the bottles are always empty by morning.

They say you should pray to the three wolves if you ever need something specific-the eldest for strength (especially if you’re hurting), the middle for luck (especially if you are a gambler), and the youngest for bravery (especially if you are powerless). They say you can hear them howling and laughing at night, roaming the streets with their people. They fight for change-positive change. Help and aid for those who need it. Sometimes, when you focus your eyes just right, you can see them standing together, leaning against broken walls with their dark eyes gleaming. The protectors of the innocent bystander and the victim alike.

They say that the shapeshifter can pretend to be human whenever he wants. That he could be your friend, your enemy, your coworker, your neighbor, so you had better treat everyone with respect. They say he helps the children of criminals to get a better life. That he creeps through the walls and delivers food for the daughters and sons to eat, money for the wives and husbands struggling to support themselves. That if you pray hard enough, he will whisk you away to his lost home in the stars.

They say that as the ghost girl is for daughters, the tall boy is for sons. The protector of the orphan, the disowned, the loved, and the abused alike. He’s one of the few that there are pictures of. Pictures of him standing tall and proud between guns and cowering young children shielding their heads with backpacks. The children say that at any range, bullets fired at him bounce off as if he is an impenetrable shield made of steel.

They say that if you follow the flight of birds for long enough, that if you track the footsteps of cats and dogs and rabbits and the skittering of mice and rats and insects to their source, you will find her. Nobody can give a description of her that’s perfect, but all those who have seen her say that she is the most beautiful woman they’ve ever seen. Only people who work with animals ever seem to see her. It is not always a good thing when one does.

The witch, they say, is who you pray to if you want revenge. Someone who will curse your enemies. You have to be careful, though. They say she uses a kind of magic that will bounce back to you, if you’re not careful. But only if you hex someone who doesn’t quite deserve it. A curse for the girl who turned you down eight times in a row after you kept nagging will land you maggots in your hair, but a curse for the teacher who hit your little sister will land you a few mysterious silver coins and the news that she was fired.

Oh, yes, they say Detroit has many. But they’re not the only ones.

In Gotham, they pray to the monsters. Fitting for a city full of them.

They say that if you are poor and in need of help, you pray to the rags. The forgotten clothing left on street corners and in filthy alleys. They say that if he hears you, your heart had better be full of good. That he eats the sinners. Most people are willing to risk their lives on a fairytale. Some never get the chance to try again.

They say that people must not be afraid of the hissing and screeching outside their doorways at night. That it is just the batfolk coming out of their hiding place. There are many of them. Small ones to pray to if you are an orphan child. If you want protection for animals. If you want justice for harm done to your children. If you want help. They say the larger ones prefer to answer the prayers of children. Nobody knows why. And they say that if you really want help, you’re better off praying to the one trapped in the cave yet content to stay there. The one who makes sure your children never go to bed hungry. He is often hard to access, but his ears are always open if you need help. Leave out some tea for him.

They say you should pray to the leaf woman and her shadow girl if you want help getting justice (or revenge-sometimes they’re the same thing) on the people who have hurt you. The men who took everything from you and left you to die. They say they’re killers. That they test men by disguising themselves as travelling girls and seeing how they’ll be treated. That if they don’t like how you act, they’ll kill you with a kiss.

They say the cat god can watch you through feline eyes, that she moves as softly as a shadow. That if you cross her you'll regret it, but if you leave out enough offerings she'll be your protector for life. Unless, of course, she decides to take your generous gifts and move on, followed by a stream of tails and pricked ears that gleam silver in the moonlight. She's just as much a thief as a protector, if not more so. Many are willing to risk it.

The seedy underbelly of Gotham has people to pray to, too. Gods of scales and bone for the sewers. Gods of riddles to confuse the cops who are on your trail. Gods for imperviousness to fear. Gods for youth, to stop you from aging a day.

They say the one you should never pray to, not _ever,_ is the laughing one. That he requires human sacrifice to even _listen_ to someone, much less grant their request. He’s infamous for eating those who try to summon him, and when the streets of Gotham run slick with blood, that it is _always_ his doing so that he can feast on the carnage afterward.

The Gotham gods are old and dark and mysterious. Nothing like the shiny new souls of Metropolis. They only have two to pray to, there, and only one of them ever responds. They say he’s an angel. That his wings are red and look like ripped cloth expanding outward in a symbol of protection and defense and that he stands like a shield between the people of this world and destruction. They say he fills them with hope. Bright and shining and warm like Shabbat candles. Like a dying star.

Central and Keystone, so they say, are practically infested with them.

They say that there are gods for everyone to pray to, ones for quick justice in the legal system and quick justice outside of it, ones for fast running without falling. There are several like that, who they say put on the faces of humans so that they can befriend and help the people who need them the most. Not tricksters, just helpers. There are four big ones-the eldest, who they say can cure disease, the youngest who they say befriends and plays with lost children, and the middle ones. Nobody is sure about them. But they help. One for justice for the prisoners, one for justice for the victims.

They say there’s another god who disguises himself as human. That he dresses in tattered clothes and plays the flute on a street corner until everyone who has passed by has given him some of their money, if they have some to spare. The ones who don’t have enough to give and barely have enough for themselves don’t even seem to hear him. When the night is over, everyone in Central and Keystone without a roof on their heads wakes up to warm food next to their head and money in their pocket.

They say that if you want good weather on your wedding or your birthday or some other event, you should pray to the storm bringer so he'll pass you by. They say that he’s not the merciless monster everything thinks he is. That he brings rain to small gardens and sunshine to children. That even the lightning runners aren’t as free as he is, and that you should leave out gifts to cheer him up when it rains, for he is crying over his lost brother.

If you’re a con artist, it’s best to pray to the trickster gods. They say there are two of them, but who knows-nobody’s ever seen them before, not in their true forms. Maybe it’s just two sides of the same being, like flipping a coin. They’ll help you lie and cheat and steal but if you start hurting innocent people, all that luck will vanish in an instant. They’re fickle beings like that. They say that they’re the source of the laughter you can sometimes hear at night.

Most people don’t even remember the names of the older gods. The ones of anywhere. They don’t remember the ones who protect children from their cruel parents. The ones who fly faster than air and can call down lightning from the sky at a whim. Don’t remember what their purpose ever was. But sometimes someone will still pray to them, so they say, and then the next day you’re better off than you were before. Especially if you are parentless, or have a childlike joy inside of you. They favor the people like that.

They say that no matter where you are, if you pray for the help of the clay goddess, she’ll find you, but despite that she is not one of the everywhere-gods. That she is vicious in her protection of the innocent, but kind and loving and strong to those who need her help. Nobody has ever seen her face. All they can tell you about is her rope, the one that makes you tell the truth, and her eye. How soft and pitch black they are. They say she’s killed gods and yet is still gentle. Not yet broken. That she will always be there for the people who need her.

They say that there are many like that. Who you can call upon in times of need, if you've been faithful.

They say a lot of things.

But who knows if any of it is true?


End file.
